


If Only a Heart Could Be As White As Snow

by zubeneschamali



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, prince!Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29988915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zubeneschamali/pseuds/zubeneschamali
Summary: What if Snow White had been a young man? It would not only have been his beauty that was a threat, but his future role as king. What if his best friend was a huntsman's son, and both of their worlds were shattered by the betrayal of a jealous stepfather…
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Comments: 7
Kudos: 160





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from U2, "White as Snow". Listen to it for atmosphere [. This is an old fic that I'm reposting because I heard the song the other day and realized how much I liked this story and how long it's been since I read it. Hope you enjoy!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5IBinmX9mQM)

Snow.

It’s the first memory Jared has, or at least the first one he has of the prince, which means it’s the first memory that matters. It was cold that winter, enough to snow, and his three-year-old’s delight at seeing the big fluffy flakes falling outside their cottage was almost enough to overcome his shock at how _cold_ it was.

He’d let out a surprised shriek when he picked up a handful of icy whiteness. He remembered hearing a laugh and looking up to see an older boy in front of him with one hand on the reins of a chestnut horse. “Cold, isn’t it?” the boy asked in a friendly tone.

Little Jared had nodded with wide eyes at the boy’s fine clothing. “Pretty,” he’d said, pointing at the white flakes landing in the boy’s reddish-blond hair like twinkling stars coming to rest.

Jared might not remember exactly how it happened after that, but the memory of his father’s horrified shout after his loosely-packed snowball exploded over the crown prince’s face was sharp and clear. So were the bright peals of laughter from the prince and the reassurances from his tutor, on horseback at the edge of the clearing, that all was well. They’d been out to give the prince a chance to see the snow, and it would do him some good, the tutor thought, to have a playmate who was nearly his age.

So Prince Jensen’s visits to the cottage became regular. As the boys grew older, Jared shared with him what his own father was teaching him about how to live in the woods, even if the prince in his fine castle would never have to know such things. In return, Jensen taught him his letters and numbers, more than a huntsman’s boy would otherwise learn. But mostly they made up their own games and explored the forest together. 

In the process, they became best friends in a way that their stations in life would have otherwise made impossible, from Jensen insisting that Jared call him by his first name to the two of them regularly sharing the same bowl of stew in front of the stone hearth in Jared’s father’s humble cottage.

The next time it snowed, Jared was seventeen, and the memory of that first snowfall and first meeting with the prince was so bittersweet that he felt every pinprick of cold against his upturned face and hands like one of his father’s hunting knives. A long-fallen maple leaf at his feet flared bright red until it was silently covered in a fall of white, the world around him silent and still as he mourned his loss.

The leaves had been bright on the trees when the king died in Jared’s thirteenth year. The sudden illness had been a shock to the entire kingdom, but most of all to the prince. Jensen and his father were close, and there was no shame in the tears he shed while Jared held him with arms that felt too small to encompass his grief. All he could do was murmur words of comfort and tamp down the sick fear that his best friend was lost to him as well, now that he was to be king.

The queen observed the proper mourning period of a year before marrying the king’s younger brother, who had been visiting the castle at the time of the king’s illness and had reportedly been a great comfort to him in his final hours.

“I know I should love him for that, but I can’t,” Jensen confessed on a dark, dreary winter’s day as they sat in front of Jared’s hearth. “He is of my father’s blood, and of my blood, but he is not my father.” He shook his head, the uneven firelight casting shadows in the hollows under his eyes. “I don’t trust him, Jared.”

Jared cast a nervous glance at his father, who was whittling a small carving in the light coming in through the doorway, but he appeared not to have heard. “It isn’t for long, right?” he asked with a hand on Jensen’s forearm. “That he will be regent for you?”

“Ten months,” Jensen replied through clenched teeth. “That is too long.”

He knew Jensen well enough to know that it wasn’t greed for the throne behind his words. “More time for you to learn how to be the best king we have ever had,” Jared replied in a firm voice.

Jensen looked sideways at him, the tension retreating behind his crinkle-eyed grin. “I’m so glad I have you, Jared.” His hand moved to rest over Jared’s, warm and sure. 

The heat of the fire was flushing Jared’s cheeks, making him too warm. “D-do you want to go outside?” he asked. “I’m almost done with my new bow, and I want to know what you think.”

The memory of that day became a treasure locked up with that of the first snowfall. Jensen’s cheeks were flushed pink with the cold, his lips plump where he kept licking them against the dry air, and the way his bright red cloak fell back to reveal the muscles of his arm as he tested the draw of Jared’s new bow inexplicably made Jared’s mouth go dry.

He never got the chance to understand what it meant. 

A few weeks later, he was in the market below the castle walls, hoping to trade some of his father’s wood carvings for anything besides potatoes and still more potatoes for the stew pot. Suddenly, he saw his father turning a corner up ahead. Frowning at the sight when his father had claimed he was going to the tanner’s in the village in the other direction, Jared fastened his hood against the still-biting wind of early spring and followed until he saw him go into the back door of a building. 

The stench of the garbage piled next to the back door reminded him that they’d gone well outside the respectable market area into the lower, darker streets crowded next to the river’s edge. Glancing around to make sure he was unobserved, Jared slipped inside the door and hovered at the back entry.

“Is it done?” an unfamiliar voice was asking.

Jared's father sighed heavily. “Yes,” he said tightly.

“Let me see,” said the other man.

Jared eased forward and poked his head around the corner. The brick-walled room was bare of furnishings, with only a moth-eaten pelt on the floor in front of the fire sputtering in the blackened fireplace. His father was facing towards him, pulling out a tinderbox with a grimace on his face. When he opened it, Jared gasped, barely keeping his wits about him enough to duck back out of view.

His stomach roiled. He was no stranger to butchered animals, but to see what was clearly the heart of an animal lying inside the small box as if it was a gift disgusted him. When he poked his head back around, his father had handed the box to the shorter man who had his back to Jared. His father's eyes flickered up to Jared’s, but to Jared’s astonishment, he looked afraid rather than angry before his expression went flat.

“This is truly the prince’s?” the man asked, his gaze raising to meet that of Jared’s father as he hefted the box in one hand.

Jared’s own heart skipped a beat. That couldn’t possibly mean what it sounded like. That was impossible.

“Yes, it is,” his father replied, suddenly sounding much older. “The prince is dead.”

The rest of the conversation was drowned out as Jared's blood pounded in his ears. If the unknown man had exited through the back door, Jared would have been standing there like a living statue, completely caught out.

Instead, the man went into the building’s interior, and it was Jared’s father who grabbed his arm and hauled him outside before he could blink. As soon as they were in the alleyway, Jared jerked his arm free. “Why would you say that about the prince?” he demanded in a low voice choked with fear. “Who was that?”

“That was Fylan, the king’s chief advisor,” his father said, his face drawn and haggard. “Jared, I—”

Jared shook his head impatiently. “We have no king. There is the Regent Edward, and Jensen will be king when he is eighteen.”

His father was shaking his head more slowly, his eyes red-rimmed. “Not anymore,” he said quietly.

Jared put his hand over his mouth. “No,” he said, his voice shaking. “I don’t believe you. How could you—you couldn’t do such a thing!”

“I had no choice,” his father replied, and Jared was sure that he could feel his heart breaking in his chest. “Jared, he came to me and told me that either I—do this for him, or he would have you killed. I am so sorry, my son. I know that you loved him, and I would give anything not to have to tell you this, but it was you or him, and I had to choose my son.”

“You should have chosen him.” Jared’s voice was cold. “Because now, you no longer have a son.”

He turned and walked away, the late winter sun barely warming his face, and at fifteen years old, he vowed to never forgive his father for what he’d done.

Seven years passed.

Jared left home as soon as he thought he could survive on his own, moving as far away from his father as he could get and still be within the kingdom's borders. At seventeen, he was cutting wood and making carvings and tools the way his father had taught him, selling in the markets on the weekends and tending to his vegetable garden and rabbit snares during the week. He got by, but it wasn't the life he had envisioned for himself. 

Jensen had promised to take him with him when he traveled around his lands and to far away kingdoms, and Jared had no desire to travel on his own. By the time he was twenty- two, he still missed Jensen every day, the hurt diminishing over time but never any less sharp when he thought about his father's betrayal and the loss of his best friend.

Edward had crowned himself king after the tragic news that the prince had died in a hunting accident, falling over a cliff when his horse threw him. The people mourned Jensen as strongly as they had mourned his father, and Jared took a small amount of solace in that. But no one had known Jensen like he had, and no one knew what had really happened to him aside from his father and the regent's advisor, and presumably the regent himself. Jared stubbornly refused to call him the king in his own head, even though he had no way to prove that the man had arranged for his nephew's murder.

The kingdom got by under Edward's rule, but much like Jared's own life, it wasn't what he would have expected growing up. There were a couple of years of drought, and then a few years of flooding, and hunger started to become more common. The king and his retinue rarely left the castle, but from the stories of parties and luxuries that traveled around the countryside in their stead, they were suffering no ill effects from the poor weather. 

There was some grumbling among the people that things wouldn’t have been so bad if young Jensen was ruling, but they were quiet grumbles made only among close company, never in a place where the King's Guard might overhear. The red-coated soldiers had increased in number, Edward professing a concern for his own safety after the untimely deaths of his brother and nephew. It seemed like everywhere one went, one saw red coats riding on horses, both of them better fed that most of the population, whether in the city or small towns or on all but the most obscure paths through the forests.

Jared took those obscure paths often, wanting nothing more than to keep his head down and remain unseen. He had companions for drinking or playing dice, but no one that he would call a friend. His father had been his only family, and Jensen had been his only friend as a child. Most of his time was spent alone in the out-of-doors, and he was content with that.

Which was why it was a shock to come home one day from gathering early spring shoots of wild onions to find a familiar figure waiting at the rough table inside the cottage he had built with his own hands. Instantly, Jared straightened to his full, now considerable, height, and folded his arms over his also considerably broad chest. "What do you want?" he demanded.

His father's eyes widened as they took in the sight of him, but he quickly rose from the rough-hewn bench. "I must speak with you, Jared. I don't have much time."

"I have nothing to say to you." Jared brushed past him, depositing his basketful of onions on the hearth. He felt as cold and distant towards his father as he had when he left, the old hurt flaring up as if it had just happened. He wondered for a moment how his father had found him, then figured after seven years, there probably weren't many places left for him to look.

When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he shrugged it off and whirled around. "I said—"

"You _will_ listen to me." His father stepped forward, his voice as sharp and commanding as Jared remembered it from his youth, and his shoulders straightened almost automatically. His father gave a short nod, and then his features softened, one hand coming up to cup Jared's cheek. "By God, I have missed you," he said softly. "You've grown up so well."

"No thanks to you," Jared retorted, twisting away. He knew it wasn't true—there was no way he would have survived a year, much less seven, without all that his father had taught him, but he wanted to wound with his words.

There was silence except for the rustling of the first leaves on the trees outside. Then his father spoke, looking him right in the eye, his words clear and measured with the ring of truth. "I did not kill him, Jared."

Jared's mouth twisted up, keeping back anger and something terrifyingly like tears. "I heard you," he spat out. "And you didn't deny it."

"It was true that Fylan came to me and threatened your life and mine if I did not do as he asked." His father shook his head. "I could not do such a thing, but nor could I refuse. So I bade the prince come to me, explained his plight, and gave him what provisions and tools I could. Then I shot a deer and prayed Fylan would be too sheltered and soft to know the difference." He grimaced. "I was right."

Jared had staggered back as though he'd taken a blow. "Then why—all this time, why have you let me think he was dead?"

"At first it was for your protection, and his." His father's hand came up to brush his hair from his forehead, and this time Jared didn't move away. "Everyone at the castle knew how close you were, and if you were not mourning your closest friend, they would wonder why. I am so, so sorry I had to do that to you, Jared. It was unforgiveable. By the time I could have told you…you had left."

Jared felt as dazed as if he had woken up to find the sky green. He said slowly, "It's not as unforgiveable as what I thought you had done." He shook his head as if to clear it, though it didn't seem to help. Jensen was alive? His father hadn't betrayed him after all?

His father put both hands on Jared's shoulders. "That doesn't matter now. What matters is that somehow, Edward found out. He knows the prince is alive, and he knows it was my doing, and that means both of you are in danger."

"And you," Jared said with dawning horror. "Is that why you are here?"

"When I sent Jensen away, it was to the north, far from the castle and anyone who might know him by sight. I expected him to return after his eighteenth birthday, but he never did." His father swallowed. "I do not know if he is yet alive, but if he is, you must find him and protect him from Edward until he can return and claim the throne that should be his."

Jared's head was spinning. "What about you?"

He got a sad smile in return. "I will go south, as far as I can. If they are following me, they will be going the wrong direction."

Jared grabbed his arm. "You can't do that. There's hundreds of the King's Guard now, Father. You can't evade them forever."

"There are many lands besides this one, my son." Wetness was sparkling in his eyes, the same blue-green as Jared's own. "Can you do this for me?"

"Of course," Jared said automatically. "But—now that I—you can't leave me like this. Not now!" A great lump rose up in his throat at the thought of all of the wasted time and the futile anger with which he'd burdened his father, and he was suddenly sniffling, "I'm sorry," into his father's shoulder.

"Shh, my son, it's all right." His father's embrace around him was more comforting than it had any right to be, given that he'd endured Jared disowning and denying him for what he'd known all along to be no more than a ruse. 

It broke the dam inside Jared, the hurt at losing his father along with his best friend pouring out after all these years like spring snowmelt from the mountains, in a torrent that would have embarrassed him if he'd been conscious of it. But for the moment, he was a little boy again, his father soothing his hurt and murmuring in his ear. 

Slowly, his sobs slowed, and a hole he hadn't even recognized in his own heart began to heal. Finally, Jared pulled back, sniffing and dragging his sleeve over his face. 

His father's eyes were wet, too, and he gave a helpless little laugh as he brushed the hair back from Jared's face again. "I would give the world to be able to spend time here with you, my son, but we both must go. Pack what you need for a week's journey. I told Jensen to go to an old friend of mine in the mountains, a man named James Beaver. Do you remember me speaking of him?"

Jared sniffed. "Near the silver mines?"

"Yes, that's right." Tears started to well in his father's eyes again, and he blinked them back. "I am so proud of you, Jared, of the man that you've become. Whatever happens, know that."

"I do," he whispered back. Then he spoke words he hadn't known he'd still felt, and that he certainly had never expected to say again. "I love you, Father."

By the time night fell, they were both gone from Jared's home, heading in opposite directions, not knowing if they would ever see each other again. 

The leaves might have been unfurling near Jared's home, but as he followed the slope of the land upward to the northern mountains, it was clear that winter had not yet relinquished its grip. He was unable to forage as he had planned, and since he was sticking to the lesser-traveled paths, there were precious few places to purchase food with the small amount of coin he carried. Finding a dry patch of ground to sleep was difficult; at first, everything was muddy, and after a few days, there was snow on the ground. What had delighted him as a child and saddened him as a young man was now a hindrance. Between the hunger pangs and the damp, Jared found himself unable to sleep more nights than not, and his ever-uphill trudging grew more taxing every day.

A week passed in this fashion. Eventually, Jared made his way to a road rather than a track—not the King's Highway, given the preponderance of red-uniformed guards who were likely to be traveling to and from the valuable mines—but a pathway that went through the smaller foothill villages, giving him hope for a warm place to eat and sleep.

But times had changed since he ran away from his father's house so many years ago. While a traveler used to be able to count on a pallet by the fire and some leftover cheese and bread for a few pieces of coin, no one in the villages he passed through was willing to open their doors to him. Once he circled back around to slip into a barn but was chased out by an angry farmer and his dogs before he could nestle into the dry hay. 

That night, new snow fell, and Jared woke from his nest in a hollowed log to find the spare clothing he'd been using as a coverlet soaked. With nothing dry to put on, he tried running in place to warm up, then resigned himself to being cold.

It was hard going through the snow, almost over his boot tops even on the path. Apparently few people traveled this way, and he was left breaking his path most of the time. The trail was growing increasingly rocky; that and the ever-steeper angle of the climb gave Jared hope that he was getting closer to his destination. While he knew the way from the main road, this lesser-used track largely paralleled the King's Highway, so Jared was confident he could find his way.

By nightfall, he was less certain. The path had entered the mountains, high rock walls rising up on either side, and for all he knew, he was veering away in a different direction from the highway. There were occasional crude signs denoting the distance to the next village or hamlet, but they weren't familiar names. Even though one of the signs he passed indicated that there was a silver mine in this direction, it wasn't the one he was looking for.

To make matters worse, he was slogging through knee-deep snow. Clearly no one had come this way since the last snowfall, and finding shelter of any kind was going to be close to impossible. Bone-tired and cold as he'd never been in his life, Jared looked around for shelter.

A few minutes of hunting found him a sturdy pine tree with a boulder lodged against it, large enough for Jared to shelter behind and uphill from the trail so that he would be less likely to be seen by passersby. If there _were_ any passersby, that was; he hadn't seen another soul since midday, despite the silver mine ahead. Perhaps it wasn't being mined any more? 

The thought sent a chill of a different kind over Jared. If his father's friend was gone, then what was he to do? Worse yet, what if Jensen was no longer here, or had never made it here in the first place? It had been this same time of year when he had traveled northward, a seventeen-year-old with only rudimentary wilderness skills. What were the odds that he had managed to survive? The thought sent Jared's spirits plummeting.

He curled up into as small of a ball as he could, covering himself with every piece of clothing he had. He shivered until he could feel himself growing warmer, although in the back of his mind, he wondered if it was actual warmth or his body fooling itself into thinking so. Lessons on cold weather had been largely abstract where he grew up, since it only froze a handful of nights during the winter. 

It was growing harder for Jared to remember his father's words on the cold, like his brain was having trouble putting together thoughts. Maybe it was because he was tired. If he could sleep for a few hours, now that he'd stopped shivering, things would be better. 

Jared closed his eyes and let thoughts of Jensen sweep over him, remembering the last time he'd seen him: out behind the cottage drawing Jared's new bow, red cloak and pink cheeks and eyes greener than the springtime meadows. It was a happy memory on which to fall asleep, warming Jared from the inside out.

When morning came, despite the chirping of a bird overhead and the rising sun shining directly on Jared's face, he did not wake.


	2. Chapter 2

Something warm and heavy and suffocating was covering him. Jared pushed feebly against it, but it didn't move. He felt overheated, like he was a crumbling piece of charcoal at the base of a fire. He moaned and pushed again at whatever was covering him.

"Leave that alone," he heard, along with footsteps moving to his side.

The voice was so familiar he smiled even with his eyes closed. "Jens'n," Jared murmured, turning toward the sound.

There was a sharp intake of breath from a different direction. Then the familiar voice said from closer than before, "No, my name is Ross."

Confused, Jared shook his head. "J'nsen," he insisted sluggishly. His eyelids were so heavy, he didn't feel like he could open them. "Where'm I?"

"You are safe," came the reply. A hand came to the back of Jared's head and lifted it up. "Can you drink?"

He obediently opened his mouth. He trusted Jensen. 

There was the cool feel of a earthenware mug against his lips and then something warm and fragrant slowly poured into his mouth. He gulped it down, feeling warmth spread through his body. When it was taken away, his head was let back down against the rustle of a straw-filled pillow. "Rest now," Jensen's voice said.

Jared was asleep before he could reply.

The next time he woke, he felt clear-headed but still exhausted. He blinked open his eyes and looked around. It was a room with bare straw-and-plaster walls, bits of straw poking out here and there. There was a fire burning in the hearth, and he was lying on a narrow pallet in front of it with two thick blankets piled on top of him. On the other side of him was a rough-hewn table with benches on either side, both of them very long. 

"Ross," came a sharp voice.

Jared turned his head to see a figure standing in the doorway near one end of the long table. He squinted in the dim firelight. Was it a child? It was someone very short, but that voice sounded deeper than a child's.

Then someone appeared in the doorway, and Jared caught his breath. He looked older and rougher, but there was no doubt that it was Jensen. Jared had seen those eyes and those lips in his dreams for years. "Hello," he breathed, feeling a smile break over his face. His best friend was alive and well and standing in front of him, and Jared hadn't felt happiness like this for seven long years.

"Hello," Jensen replied, sounding uncertain. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Jared answered, which was an understatement if he'd ever said one.

He started to try and sit up, and Jensen moved forward while the person who'd called for him disappeared into the adjoining room. "Here," Jensen said, coming forward to kneel down next to the pallet, putting one strong arm behind Jared as he struggled to a sitting position. 

"Thank you," Jared said, leaning back briefly into Jensen's warmth. "Thank you, Jensen."

Jensen immediately went stiff. "I told you before, my name is Ross."

Jared frowned. That was Jensen's middle name, he remembered. When he turned to look at Jensen, he saw polite concern and wariness in the moss-green eyes looking back at him. "Don't you remember me?" he asked, bewildered.

Jensen cocked his head to the side. "Should I?"

"It's me!" Jared cried, reaching out to grab a hold of Jensen's tunic. "It's Jared. Don't you remember?"

Jensen's eyes widened. "Jared?" He looked at him more closely, eyes searching his. Then his gaze roamed over Jared's face, his hand coming up to push his long hair away from his forehead. "God, it is you. About twice the size you were when last I saw you. How is this possible?"

"I was looking for you," Jared explained. Then he remembered everything, and his grip tightened on Jensen's rough woolen tunic. "Edward knows," he hissed. "He knows you're alive. It's not safe for you."

"How?" Jensen demanded, his eyes narrowing.

Jared shook his head impatiently. "I don't know. I only that my father—" He swallowed hard and went on, "He came to me and told me everything, what he did to make everyone think you were dead. He told me that Edward found out the truth and that you are in danger."

Jensen stared at him. "So you came wandering through the mountains hoping to stumble across me? What kind of a fool's errand was that?"

Taken aback at his harsh tone, Jared said, "This was near where my father said you would be. I did not expect the winter to still be so harsh, it is true."

Jensen's hands were on his shoulders, and he shook Jared where he sat. "You almost died," he snapped. "If the—if my friends hadn't happened to notice you from the trail, you would have frozen to death!" He shook Jared again. "And where have you been, anyway?"

Jared blinked at him, confused. "Where have I been?"

"You were supposed to come for me," Jensen said. "Your father said he would send you when it was safe." He shook his head. "I know the King's Guard has grown in number, and perhaps you have become too comfortable in your life, but surely there was a time in the last seven years when I could have come home?"

"I don't understand." Jared's hand was still grasping Jensen's tunic, and he let go to lay his hand over Jensen's heart. "You were supposed to come back after you were eighteen. That's what my father said."

Jensen was shaking his head, his eyes wide. "I thought he was going to send you to find me. I—it all happened so fast, but I am certain that is what he said."

Jared barked out a half-laugh. "He couldn't have. I ran away not long after I overheard him tell the regent's advisor that he had killed you. I never saw him again until two weeks ago, when he first told me you were alive and than said your life was in danger once more."

"Jared," Jensen said softly. His grip on Jared's shoulders loosened, and he searched his eyes. "You have thought all this time that your father murdered me?"

Jared nodded mutely, remembered horror and sorrow and loneliness blending together and surely shining out of his eyes like lamplight.

"My God." Jensen looked at him a moment longer and then embraced him fiercely. "I am so sorry. That is my fault, all of it."

His face crushed against Jensen's shoulder, Jared embraced him back, breathing in his welcome scent and feeling like part of him had been made whole again. "I was the one who ran away."

He felt Jensen shake his head. "I told your father not to tell you, not at first." He drew back and cupped Jared's cheek with one hand, smiling wistfully. "You always wore your heart on your sleeve, my Jared. They would have known if you were not mourning me, and your father's life would have been forfeit."

Jared swallowed hard, the momentary pleasure at Jensen calling him "my Jared" overshadowed by fear for his father. "It might still be," he admitted.

Jensen's features hardened. "I will not let that happen. I swear to you."

"Ross?" came a query from the doorway.

Jared looked up to see the same short figure, or maybe it was a different one with wilder-looking hair. "It's all right, Doc," Jensen said. "He's a friend." His arm pulled Jared closer, his tone growing warm and fond. "My best friend."

Jared leaned his head on Jensen's shoulder and felt the warmth of his body and his words soak through him. He'd made it. He'd found Jensen, his closest friend and rightful king, alive and well. Everything was going to be all right.

"Are you mad?"

It was the dwarf in the red tunic, the one Jensen had told him went by Grumpy. They all had real names, of course, but they insisted that humans couldn't pronounce them properly and they preferred the nicknames. Jared still wasn't over his astonishment at seeing the "little people" he'd always thought lived only in fireside tales. 

In fact, they were very much real people, living in the mountains and being treated as badly or worse by Edward as his own people. Jared had seen signs of hardship in the villages on the journey here, but he hadn't realized it was because the men who worked in the silver mines were no longer employed there. Instead, the King's Guard supervised these smaller people who could get into narrower crevices and be forced to work more hours for less pay. Edward had been the duke of this region before moving to the royal city, and according to the dwarves, this exploitation had been going on for many years but had accelerated after he took the throne.

While Jensen argued with Grumpy and the older dwarf named Doc who appeared to be their leader, Jared was taken aside by a younger fellow who tried to explain in between sneezes what was going on. When Jensen had arrived in the mountains seven years ago, he'd never made it to the home of Jared's father's friend. Instead, he'd suffered a similar fate as Jared, shivering with cold and on his last legs when the group of kindly dwarves had taken him in. They'd recognized him on sight and offered to protect him for as long as he needed it, having no love lost for Edward. In return, he'd kept house for them while he waited for a summons from Jared or his father that never came.

"My father expected Jensen to come back on his own," Jared explained. "And now, all these years later—there are so many of the Guard, and now that they know to watch for Jensen, it will be very hard to make it back to the castle."

"But that—achoo!—is what you must do, yes?" the little dwarf asked.

Jared nodded. His father had told him to protect Jensen, but what could he do as one solitary woodsman? Only by going back to the city and showing the people that Jensen was alive could they keep him safe and put him on the throne that he deserved. "If he can persuade your friends," he said, gesturing to the heated debate at the other end of the table.

Sneezy's eyes twinkled. "Oh, they know it is the right thing, too. But they want to know if he can convince them of that."

Jared narrowed his eyes. "They're testing him?"

"We always knew this day would come," explained the cheerful, rotund dwarf next to Jared. He shot a sideways glance at Grumpy, who was bellowing something about ungrateful princes trying to get themselves killed. "Some of us did, at any rate," Happy sniffed. Then he went on, "Jensen has not left this valley for seven years. We have tried to keep him prepared with discussions and debates as best we are able. We can hardly train him with the sword or the longbow, but his mind…" He beamed. " _That_ we could keep sharp, and that we have." 

"Most of us, at least," a fellow in olive green yawned, nodding at the dwarf who was staring with a vacant, open-mouthed expression at Jensen, Grumpy, and Doc as they continued to argue. Then the green-robed dwarf's head slumped forward onto the table, and seconds later he was emitting a soft snore.

Jared looked around at the motley crew gathered around the long table. "Jensen has been very lucky to have you."

"We think so, don't we?" Sneezy asked with an elbow to the side of the dwarf in purple beside him, who gave a shy nod before lowering his head.

By the time night fell, it was settled. Jared and Jensen would head out in the morning, back down the trail Jared had taken, staying away from the main roads. The dwarves would spread the word around the mountains that the crown prince was alive and well and had been spotted in the east, hopefully drawing the Guard away from the pair and from Jared's father in the south. 

Jared was sure that people would welcome them along the way once they saw who Jensen was, but the prince refused, not wanting to put anyone in danger if the Guard found out. So they packed bedrolls and provisions for a week's journey, and then spent one more night in the cozy cottage before heading out into the snow.

The first day was difficult going; although more people had been down the mountain pass, it was still knee-deep in some places. They took turns leading the way, Jensen's face hidden behind the deep hood of his cloak. Jared missed the bright red color of the prince's clothing, but the dark green he now wore made his eyes look dazzling and brilliant. Combined with the way Jensen's broad shoulders filled out the cloak and the firm grasp of his strong hands when he steadied Jared on an icy spot on the trail, Jared found himself suddenly understanding that winter afternoon when he last saw Jensen, and it was like a bolt of lightning hitting him. 

It wasn't just his best friend he'd been missing all this time—it was his first love.

His only love, really. Jared thought on it as he tramped through the snow behind Jensen. He'd enjoyed the pleasures of a few men and women during his mostly-solitary years, but it had been more about curiosity or slaking a need than about emotional attachment. He suddenly realized that was because of his attachment to a man he thought was dead, and the realization was like a blow to the gut.

He was in love with Jensen—who hadn't even recognized him in the cottage. Who probably still thought of him as the closest thing he had to a brother, his playmate from childhood days. Jared hung his head and followed Jensen's footprints through the snow, trying to banish this discovery about himself to the back of his mind.

When they made camp that night, well off the path on which they'd been traveling, they were both quiet. Jared wanted to talk, to ask Jensen how he was feeling, what he expected to happen as they drew nearer to the city, but he felt tongue-tied and awkward. He was here to protect the _king,_ after all, and that duty had to come first, no matter what personal revelations he'd had. 

It was cold, but Jared managed to coax a fire from a handful of dried leaves and small branches, earning an impressed arch of Jensen's eyebrow, and they ate their dried meat and cheese around the fire's welcome glow.

When they laid out their bedrolls, Jensen placed his right next to Jared's. "Best to share body heat," he said matter-of-factly.

Jared swallowed. "Yes," he agreed. "That—that would be good."

Jensen looked at him a little oddly but didn't say anything. When they laid down, close enough to touch under the shared blankets, Jared had to take a couple of deep breaths to hold back the impulse to reach over and grab Jensen's hand. It took a long time for him to fall asleep, despite the regular, comforting rhythm of Jensen's breaths at his side.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day was a little easier, as was the one after that. As they descended from the mountains, they left the snow behind except for the shaded places on the north sides of the hills, and small spring flowers started to appear, lightening Jared's heart. 

They were able to walk side by side on the road, exchanging stories of their years apart. Jensen grew quiet every time Jared talked about living alone, and his jaw clenched whenever Jared mentioned something about the state of the kingdom or the rumors he heard from the city about the extravagant lifestyles of the king and his court. He asked about his mother, and Jared could only tell him that she had moved to the south some years ago, heartsick at the loss of her son and at the way Edward was running the country in his stead. No one had seen her in many years.

For his part, while Jared enjoyed Jensen's stories about learning to cook and clean and the other household tasks that he'd never taken on before, he too grew quiet at the occasional reminder that Jensen had been exiled for so long because of his own bullheadedness. If he'd talked to his father, given him a chance to explain, things could be so different, for everyone in the land.

Jensen shook his head when Jared finally, hesitantly admitted what he was thinking. "When I fled here after your father saved my life, I was filled with nothing but anger. And then…Doc, mostly, but the others, too, convinced me that I had to wait, that the time would come." He let out a rueful half-laugh. "I did not think it would take so long."

"I’m sorry for that," Jared started.

Jensen cut him off with an upraised hand. "I think we both had to grow up," he said with a look from Jared's head down to his feet and back up that left a squirming but not unwelcome feeling in his belly, and he blushed and looked away.

On the third day, they started to regularly encounter other people on the road. Jared tensed up every time, trying to convince himself that no one they passed knew who either of them was, despite his wild imaginings about his father being dead or captured and the entire King's Guard on the lookout for two young men coming south from the mountains.

Jared thought it must be difficult for Jensen, coming out in to the world as if he'd been asleep for seven years, seeing how much things had changed. He didn't speak of it, but Jared saw his jaw tighten when his eyes swept over a dilapidated cottage or an underfed child in the villages they passed through. He imagined Jensen storing up each small hurt as one more tally against Edward, and he found himself eagerly looking forward to their arrival in the city, when Jensen would reveal himself as the rightful king and have Edward thrown out of the kingdom for his usurpation and mistreatment of his people.

They were nearly to the end of their journey when the spring sun finally shone warm and cheerful on their faces, the roads more mud than snow. They camped at the edge of a stream that night, barely within sight of the main road. Before they bedded down, Jared took a last walk around to make sure there were no imminent threats. Everything was quiet, only the sounds of the woods and their creatures settling down for the night. Still, he was on edge, nervous about the increasing likelihood of encountering the King's Guard before they reached the city.

Jared tossed and turned that night, tormented by dreams in which Jensen was dead in his arms or Edward's men captured them both and hung them from trees beside the stream. He woke up, gasping, to find Jensen already awake and laying a hand on his arm as if he had shaken Jared awake. "Are you all right?" he asked. The sun was coming up behind their heads, casting enough faint light to see the worry on his face.

"Fine," Jared said, shaking his head to try and scatter the remnants of the nightmare. "Trouble sleeping, is all."

Jensen looked dubious. His hand tightened on Jared's forearm. For some reason, even as it grew warmer, they'd moved to sharing a single covering rather than each taking their own, and Jensen was so close that Jared could feel the heat of his body. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

Jared shook his head. "There is no use."

The fond smile he got in reply was earth-shattering at this close range. "Do you remember when we were children?" Jensen asked softly. "You insisted you never had bad dreams, but you made me tell you all about mine."

"My bad dreams were dull," Jared shrugged, trying not to meet Jensen's eyes for fear that he'd see what their close proximity was doing to him. "Yours were more important."

"Now that is not true," Jensen said sternly. He shifted even closer, forcing Jared to look at him. "I never claimed that I was more important than you, and neither did you. It was one of the things I loved best about you, Jared."

He swore that his heart skipped a beat. " _Was_?" he asked softly.

They were close enough that he could see the line of Jensen's throat move as he swallowed. His hand slid down from Jared's forearm to curl over his hand. "There are other things now as well," Jensen said, his voice morning-raspy. "I still find it hard to believe, remembering how I last saw you. You were a child, but now…" He trailed off and shook his head, looking across the line of Jared's shoulders and down his chest a way that made Jared's cheeks flush. "Now, you are anything but one."

"Nor are you." Jared leaned closer, his heart thumping. "You are every bit as strong and handsome as I knew you would become."

Jensen's cheeks were tinged pink. "Were I so strong, I would not be quaking at the thought of what lies before me. What am I going to do, walk into the city under the nose of the King's Guard and proclaim, 'Here I am!'? How am I to get people to follow me, Jared?"

"I would follow you anywhere," Jared said earnestly, putting one hand over Jensen's heart. Then he gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Of course, I am somewhat biased."

"You do know me best," Jensen replied with a short laugh, but under his hand, Jared could feel his heart beating faster.

His own pulse speeded up. Before Jared could lose his courage, he said breathlessly, "It's not that, Jensen."

Then he leaned the rest of the way forward and pressed his lips to those of his best friend.

It was only a feather-light touch, but as much as it sent sparks of excitement skittering through Jared's veins, Jensen didn't respond. Jared pulled back, his heart sinking and fear curdling his gut. What had he done? 

Before he could stammer out an apology, Jensen had grabbed a hold of his tunic and pulled him forward, crushing their lips together with a groan. Jared didn't hesitate before pushing back, his fingers curling in the material of Jensen's cloak as he kissed back harder and deeper and _more_. It was everything he'd never known he wanted, everything that had been missing and, he'd thought, lost forever. Everything he ever _could_ want, Jensen warm and safe and heartrendingly beautiful in his arms.

They were gasping for air by the time they stopped. Jared had never seen anything so amazing as Jensen's mussed hair and red lips and wide green eyes. "Jensen," he breathed, tracing the line of his cheek from temple to jaw with an unsteady hand.

Jensen closed his eyes and let out a ragged sigh. When he opened them again, they were darker, lighting a fire in Jared's belly. "When this is over," he said in a low voice warm as the summer sun, "you and I will have much to say to each other. And not all of it will be talking, I think."

Jared shivered at the desire that ran through him with the words. "A good reason to keep moving," he replied in a voice deeper than normal, and the flash in Jensen's eyes made him want to cover him with his body and do everything to him that he could imagine and more.

They packed up their camp in silence, exchanging quick looks now and again but refraining from coming close to each other, knowing it would only lead to delay. With Jared in the lead, they followed the streambed rather than the road, taking the longer and more arduous route but the one that was less likely to be traveled by the King's Guard.

When night fell, they were within half a day's journey of the city, nestled under a bridge on one of the minor market roads. As badly as Jared wanted to hold Jensen close and do some of that "talking" he had mentioned that morning, he was afraid they wouldn't be able to keep quiet. But they curled up together under their shared covering, Jared holding Jensen securely in front of him and breathing in the scent at the nape of his neck as he drifted off.

When Jared awoke with a grunt, he thought for a moment he was caught in a nightmare again. His side ached as though he had been kicked, and when he rolled onto his back, he realized with a cold fear that that was exactly what had happened.

Standing over him with drawn sword was a red-cloaked member of the King's Guard. He nudged Jared's side with his foot and said, "Don't move."

Breath coming short with the sudden rush of adrenaline and fear, Jared obeyed, hands trembling at his sides. He tried to look around without moving his head, frantically wondering what they'd done with Jensen. He heard multiple pairs of booted feet moving around, and he began to feel dizzy. 

"It's him, sir," the man standing over him called to another guard. "Padalecki's son."

At that, Jared lurched upright, fear for his father nearly choking him. The guard cursed and swung the hilt of his sword at Jared's head, stunning him but not knocking him out. He fell to the ground, tasting dirt and blood, breathing hard and more afraid than he'd ever been in his life.

"Orders are to bring him in alive for the sentencing," the second man said. "No doubt what it'll be for a traitor like him."

After they dragged him to his feet, they bound his hands behind him and put a rope around his neck. Jared was forced to nearly run to keep up with the horses or risk being strangled. By mid-morning, the castle walls were in sight, and Jared was stumbling with exhaustion.

They brought him to the central market square, a place he'd been hundreds of times as a child but this time as an accused criminal. When the charges were read out loud by Fylan, the king's chief advisor, he wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, but had no breath to do so. Treason, they were calling it. A plot to overthrow the king, fomented by his father and himself, spreading the rumor that the dead crown prince was alive to distract the populace while the two of them plotted to murder the ruler and throw the kingdom into chaos.

Standing alone in the central square, hands still bound behind him, Jared was sick with fear. For all he knew, they'd already tried and sentenced his father in the same perfunctory way they were handling him. For all he knew, they'd taken Jensen away this morning and quietly slit his throat to make sure he truly was no longer a threat to Edward. There was no one to speak for Jared, no one who'd even know him anymore after the years he spent away from this place. At least they'd removed the rope from around his neck, but he was terrified that it was going to end up there again in short order.

"For spreading lies and rumors about the prince, God rest his soul, you will be sentenced to ten years of hard labor," Fylan intoned.

The crowd that had gathered began to murmur among themselves. Jared kept his head down and refused to look at them, not wanting to see either condemnation or sympathy in their eyes.

"They are not rumors," came a voice from the back, and Jared's head snapped up. "Nor are they lies."

The voice was familiar and beloved, and hope started to rise in Jared's breast. With bated breath, he watched as a figure on horseback edged its way closer, a deep green cloak draped around it and a hood shadowing its face.

The murmur of the crowd grew louder, and Fylan made a downward slashing motion to silence them. "The prince was killed years ago. Anyone who spreads false rumors that he has returned from the dead is only trying to sow panic and fear."

"There was no death from which to return," the man on horseback replied, and with a flourish Jensen pulled down his hood to reveal his face.

There was a collective gasp, and the Guard at the far edges of the crowd started to move in. Jared tried to shake off the hands of the men behind him, but they had too tight of a hold.

"Not only spreading rumors, but creating an impostor?" Fylan bellowed. "That will be an even more serious charge."

"As serious as the regent's chief advisor extorting a huntsman into murdering a prince?" Jared shouted.

The crowd went silent, and Fylan slowly turned to face him, murder in his eyes. "You will keep your mouth shut," he growled.

"Let him speak," Jensen called. He nudged his horse forward through the crowd, most of whom were staring up at him, awestruck. Only the children would not remember him, and it must have been a great shock for the rest to see him alive and well. "I command it." His eyes met Jared's across the scores of people between them, and the relief and awe that Jared felt at seeing him like this gave him the courage to raise his voice.

"You can all see that the prince was never killed," Jared called, nodding towards Jensen across the heads of the crowd. "But he was supposed to be." He drew in a breath and went on, "My father was told to kill him and make it look like a hunting accident. He was told by that man there," he said, nodding at Fylan.

The rumble of the crowd grew again. "Lies!" Fylan spat out. "Lies of a desperate man trying to keep his neck from the noose."

"There is hardly a need to overthrow Edward if he is not actually the king," Jensen's voice rang out. "While I am…grateful for my uncle's continued regency, I have returned to claim what is mine. That means he is no longer the king. Since Jared knew that I was alive, he could not have been trying to overthrow him."

"That remains to be seen," Fylan blundered.

"It has been seen," Jensen replied, drawing himself up to his full height, the sun shining down on him like a benediction, looking every inch the king he truly was. "By me. Let him go."

For the first time, Fylan bowed towards Jensen, though it was only a dip of his head. "Sire, while we are, of course, overjoyed to find that you are, in fact, alive, the fact remains that you are, at the moment, only the prince—"

"The fact remains," Jensen spoke coldly, his voice ringing out over the square, "that the King's Guard is responsible to me. I therefore command them to let the prisoner go."

There was only a moment's hesitation before the hands grabbing Jared's shoulders released, and then he felt the bindings on his wrists being cut. Jensen was edging his horse closer all of the time, the crowd parting around him. By the time Jared was free and rubbing his sore wrists, he was only a few feet away. "Are you all right?" Jensen asked quietly, his voice underlain with urgency in complete contrast to the calm way he'd stared down Fylan a moment ago. 

When Jared looked up at him, he saw the same fear and worry in his eyes that had been swirling in his own gut since waking to find himself surrounded by the Guard and Jensen gone, and he saw that worry dissipating as he looked Jared over. "I am now," Jared said with a small smile.

Jensen nodded in return, his eyes shining with relief. "I was—" his eyes flickered around them both, at the red-cloaked men still standing behind Jared and the people starting to press around them both. Lowering his voice, he went on, "I stepped away from our camp this morning and heard them coming before I could warn you. I'm so sorry, Jared." His eyes lingered on Jared's neck, where he felt the skin rubbed raw from the rope, and his gaze darkened.

"It's all right," Jared said, taking a step forward to put his hand on the horse's flank. It whickered and arched its head back to nose at him. He spread his hand wide against the warmth of the horse's body, wishing he could touch Jensen the same way. "We can talk later."

"We will." Jensen's look promised a lot more than he could possibly say in such a public setting, and Jared drew in a breath. He patted the horse's side and stepped back, watching as Jensen eased ahead through the crowd to where Fylan was.

"Truly, this is a miracle," Jared heard from behind him. He turned to see one of the King's Guard, a man about his father's age, not one of those who dragged Jared here this morning. He was staring after Jensen with wide brown eyes filled with something like hope. "I never thought—" He broke off and looked at Jared. "And look at you. You don't deserve what's been done to you here, not at all."

"What about my father?" Jared asked, heart in his throat. "Do you know where he is?"

The man shook his head. "Do you?"

Jared shook his head with narrowed eyes, even as he inwardly did a dance of joy. The man gave a low chuckle in reply. "I don't blame you, boy. I wouldn't trust me, either. And there's some in these colors you won't want to trust," he said, twitching his shoulders so his red cape swirled in the light breeze. "Not everyone will be pleased to see the prince is alive."

"But you are," Jared said hesitantly.

The guard nodded. "That I am." He extended a hand. "Sergeant Madath. At your service, and that of our king." He smiled under his full beard. "Our new king."


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of the day was a blur to Jared. Sergeant Madath escorted him to a private room near the Guard's quarters, brought him food and a basin to wash in, and bade him stay in the room while he scouted around the castle. Exhausted, Jared managed to eat the bread and cheese and wash some of the grime and blood off his face before falling into a heap on the straw pallet.

When he woke again, it was pitch dark. Cursing himself for not noting the location of the lamp before falling asleep, he was reaching for the door when it swung open. He stepped back, startled, but it was Madath in the doorway, still in his uniform. 

"The king wishes to see you," he said, looking Jared over from head to foot before brushing some bits of straw off Jared's shoulders.

"Which one?" Jared asked warily.

"There is only one king," Madath replied. "He met with the Regent Edward this afternoon, and Edward had no choice but to relinquish his position."

Jared knew it had to be true; a member of the King's Guard would never use the man's first name if he was still the ruler. "And Jensen? Is he all right?"

"He was fine when he bade me bring you to him a few minutes ago," Madath replied, dark eyes twinkling.

Jared looked at him for a moment. "Why are you helping me like this? And Jensen?"

Madath put a fatherly hand on his arm and urged him forward, down the hallway. "I remember you both as boys. Sometimes I was with the escort that brought the prince to your home. It was often the best part of his week."

Jared felt his cheeks flush. "It was usually the best part of mine," he quietly admitted.

Madath chuckled. "He will be glad to see you now," was all he said as they started to wend their way through the hallways of the castle itself, climbing enough stairs that they had to be in one of the main towers.

When they stopped at a pair of tall, forbidding doors with a red-uniformed guard on either side, Jared swallowed. Jensen was the _king_ now. What if this was only going to be a brief, formal audience? What if his brief fantasy of being with Jensen was no longer relevant now that they had achieved their goal? What if…

Madath knocked on the door. "Your Highness?" he called.

A split second later, Jensen opened the door. His eyes lit on Jared, and any fears Jared had had about no longer being welcome the same way were swept away by the look on Jensen's face. "Thank you, Sergeant," he said formally, his eyes never leaving Jared's. "Please see that we are not disturbed."

"Of course," Madath returned, and if there was amusement in his voice, it barely registered as Jared stepped forward, drawn like a moth to Jensen's flame.

He was dressed in more formal clothing than Jared had ever seen him, a gilt-edged red cloak falling to the stone floor over sleek black leggings and a long white tunic. There were lamps burning all over the room, bright enough to reveal the freckles scattered over Jensen's cheekbones and the golden flecks in his moss-green eyes. At the same time, he looked stern and proud and kingly, and Jared found himself dropping to one knee almost automatically.

Jensen looked pained, and as soon as he shut the door, he was grabbing Jared's arm and hauling him to his feet. "Please don't," he said softly.

"Sorry," Jared said, feeling the first time that his height advantage was somehow wrong. "But you are my king now."

Jensen bit on his lower lip, and the stark contrast to the proud confidence of a moment ago was utterly endearing. "I was hoping to just be your Jensen."

Jared's heart stuttered. "Always," he replied without thinking, and the smile that broke over Jensen's face was as bright as the flames illuminating the room.

They each had to take no more than a step forward, and then they were kissing as passionately as they had the other morning. Jared couldn't believe that he could have this, that something he'd never even knew he'd been missing could fill him with such joy, such calm and excitement all at the same time. Jensen's mouth was pulling at his, his hands grasping handfuls of Jared's clothing, and Jared let himself be maneuvered until his back was against a tapestried wall, Jensen pressing closely against him from head to toe.

The quiet noises they made were swallowed by the other's mouth, their hands roaming freely if not adventurously. Jared tilted his head and licked at the seam of Jensen's lips, and when they parted for him, he eased his way in with a low noise deep in his throat. Jensen's tongue started to duel with his, and the soft, slick heat had him shivering with sudden need.

It was Jensen who broke it off, leaning his forehead against Jared's, breath coming fast and lips beautifully swollen. "This morning," he said softly, his hand cupping Jared's cheek. "I saw them taking you away, and I didn't know what to do. I was terrified."

"I was so afraid they had taken you somewhere and—" Jared's arms tightened around Jensen. "When I saw you in the square—it was like my heart started beating again."

Jensen smiled broadly. "No man as large as you should have a heart so soft." 

Jared ducked his head to nuzzle under Jensen's ear. "This is who I am," he said, pleased to feel a shiver sweep over Jensen's body. "Take me or leave me."

"I think I shall take you," Jensen growled, his mouth claiming Jared's once more.

This time, the kiss was more hungry, more deep, and Jared was starting to wonder what the protocol was for bedding a king in his chambers when there was a soft knock at the door. Jensen cursed and called out, "What?"

"Your Highness, the Regent Edward would like a word," came the voice of a guard through the door.

Jared's eyebrows shot up. "What does he want?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know," Jensen returned in an equally low voice. "He had no hesitation in abdicating. Nor in having Fylan held for trial."

Jared shrugged. "I can wait," he said, even though his pulse was still pounding and his leggings were uncomfortably tight in the front.

"Not sure I can," Jensen murmured, his gaze heated for a moment before he withdrew to a respectable distance and called out, "Enter!"

Jared stayed against the wall, taking the briefest moment to straighten his clothing as the former king walked into the room. He had never seen him in person, but he would have known him for a relative of Jensen's from the fine nose and sharp jaw, not to mention the same dark blond hair, barely showing any grey. He bowed his head as he entered the room, the gesture of respect just this side of proper. 

As Edward straightened, he noticed Jared, and a moue of displeasure crossed his face. "Your Highness, I need to speak to you in confidence."

"You can speak freely," Jensen replied calmly, his expression showing no sign of the passion he'd directed at Jared only a few heartbeats ago.

The quick, displeased onceover Edward gave Jared told him that he hadn't straightened himself up completely. "Your Highness—"

"Please, sit." Jensen gestured to a polished stone table between the two high windows in the room. One window was open to the night air, the chilliness counteracted by the fire on the hearth, the fresh air welcome in the stuffy confines of the castle.

Jensen's gaze didn't leave Edward until the older man had walked past him. Then he gave Jared a small nod, his eyes telling him to stay put.

The back of his neck prickling, Jared did his best to blend in with the tapestry behind him.

Edward waited, of course, until Jensen had already seated himself before sitting in one of the high-backed wooden chairs. "I know you must be tired," Edward began, his eyes briefly flickering up to Jared. "From what you told me earlier, you are not used to quite so many people around. It must have been an exhausting day for you."

"You as well, uncle," Jensen replied. He was seated sideways to Jared, his profile outlined in the lamplight. "I appreciate the equanimity you have shown after what must have been a strong shock."

Edward's reply was a hair too slow. "Indeed," he said, folding his hands before him on the table. He was wearing fine gloves, Jared saw, probably to ward off the evening chill in the stone rooms of the castle. "It was a welcome shock, of course."

"Of course," Jensen echoed. 

There was silence for a moment, thick and heavy as the tapestry at Jared's back. Then Edward cleared his throat. "This may seem…sentimental of me, but there is something I wanted to share with you, nephew." He briefly pressed his lips together and added, "And with your friend, perhaps."

Jensen leaned back slightly in his chair. "What is it?"

A fleeting smile crossed Edward's face. It would have been warm and fond, Jared thought, if only it had reached his eyes. "One of your father's favorites." He reached into the outer pocket of his red cloak and drew out a shiny red apple. Setting it on the table in front of Jensen, he said, "I wish to show you with this gift that there are no hard feelings between us."

"It is hardly the season for apples," Jensen murmured. 

Something about his tone made the hair on the back of Jared's neck stand up.

Edward's smile was more obviously forced this time. "There are some amazing gardeners employed here. You will have to meet them."

"So I shall." Jensen contemplated the apple for a moment before reaching beneath his cloak. He withdrew a short knife with a black handle and a keen-looking blade. Grasping the apple by its stem, he quickly quartered it, the pieces falling neatly to the table, the white flesh stark against the grey-green of the stone. 

Jared blinked, astonished at Jensen's prowess with a blade. Across the table, Edward's eyebrows rose, but he said nothing.

"Will you join me?" Jensen asked, nodding towards the fruit.

Edward gave an apologetic smile. "Eating this late in the evening upsets my digestion," he said, putting a hand to his stomach. "I do apologize."

"Of course." Jensen pierced one of the apple pieces with the knife, holding it up to eye level. "It looks quite delicious."

"It will taste so, I assure you." Edward leaned slightly forward. "Go on."

The prickling feeling at the back of Jared's neck intensified as he suddenly realized how very careful Jensen was being not to actually _touch_ the apple. He eased forward, not wanting to draw attention to himself, silently cursing that he was several steps away from both the table where Jensen and his uncle sat and from the door with the guards outside.

"I wonder," Jensen said, turning the knife in his hand. His voice was deceptively light as he went on, "If the poison is in the flesh or only on the skin."

Jared froze, every muscle in his body going tense.

"What?" Edward nearly growled. "How dare you—"

"My father loved apples," Jensen continued in that steady voice. "I remember how even when he fell ill, even when his appetite left him, he continued to eat them. He was grateful to you for bringing them to him, you know. He said he was glad he could still enjoy the harvest." His voice cracked on the last words, but he forged on. "It was an unnatural illness that took him. I suspected it then, but I couldn't believe it. Not until I had time to think it over, in the years I spent hiding from you." Now he was speaking low and angry, cutting like the forged steel of a sword. "Now it appears I was right. You killed my father, and you thought you had killed me. And so now you are trying again."

Edward stood so suddenly that the chair toppled backward with a clatter. "You cannot mean—"

"Jared," Jensen said sharply as he shot to his feet. Jared spared only a moment to see that Jensen had shaken the apple piece off of his knife and was holding the blade up before he dashed for the door.

When Jared flung open the heavy oaken door, Madath and the other two guards looked up, startled. "Come quickly!" Jared urged before whirling back around.

Across the room, Edward's face had gone white. "You think this is yours? Any of it?" His arm swept wide to indicate the room and its sumptuous furnishings, the castle itself, maybe even the whole kingdom. "It is mine by rights. It should have always been mine. _You should have never been born!_ "

From where he stood, Jared couldn’t see Jensen's face, but he could see the stiff line of his shoulders and the flinch he gave at the words. "Seize him," was all he said, stepping back and gesturing with the small knife towards Edward.

Madath moved forward, but the other two hesitated. "Now!" Jensen ordered, and they started to follow.

Edward looked back and forth between Jensen and the approaching guards. "You cannot," he growled, but he took a step back, and then another.

"You were so eager to let Fylan take the fall for you," Jensen said. "If he were quickly tried and sentenced to death, then no one would know it was you who ordered my life as forfeit, would they?" He shook his head. "And now _everyone_ will know."

Edward had backed up until he was next to the window. Before anyone could respond, he whirled around.

"No!" Jared shouted, and Madath lunged forward to grab at Edward's cloak. All he was left with was a handful of red fabric as Edward hurled himself over the sill and out into the night.

The sickening thud came a few seconds later, and Jared shuddered. Everyone in the room did.

At the window, Sergeant Madath turned, looking stricken. "I am sorry, my lord." He let his handful of cloth fall to the floor. "I should have realized—"

" _I_ should have realized," Jensen replied, sounding much older than he had only a moment ago. His fists clenched at his sides, and for a few heartbeats, there was utter silence in the room. Then he drew in a deep breath and turned to the younger of the two guards behind him. "Cooney, would you take that apple away? Do not touch it, but save it so that it can be tested."

When he nodded, Jensen turned to Madath. "Take care of that," he said, nodding out the window. "And spread the word of what happened here. As the messengers travel to the corners of the kingdom tomorrow with news of the coronation, let it be known what he was and what he tried to do."

"As you wish." Madath bowed. He hurried out, the other two close behind. The scrape of the closing door was loud in the sudden stillness. 

Jared started to come forward, then raised his hands helplessly, having no idea what to do. "Jensen, are you all right?" he asked softly.

Slowly, Jensen turned to face him. He carefully laid the knife on the table and then scrubbed his hands over his face. "I think so," he said, muffled by his hands.

"Are you hurt?" Jared asked, alarmed. He crossed the distance between them and took Jensen by the shoulders.

"No, not—not on the outside." When Jensen lowered his hands and looked up, Jared was struck by the mixture of bleakness and sorrow on his face. "I—I cannot believe it. I never _wanted_ to think it was true. Jared, he—he killed his own _brother_."

"He tried to kill _you_ ," Jared returned automatically, and then what he had just witnessed hit him. It was only the knowledge that Jensen needed him to be strong right now that kept his knees from buckling at the thought of what had almost happened in this room.

Instead, he pulled Jensen close, tucking his head against his shoulder. "You're all right," he soothed. "We're all right."

They stood like that for a long, long time, arms wrapped around each other, sharing comfort. When Jared dropped a kiss on top of Jensen's head, he felt him burrow closer, and a lump rose in Jared's throat. This was his best friend, the person he loved more than any other in the world, and if he couldn't take away the hurt he had suffered, he could be the rock that would help him get through it.

He realized suddenly that he would be happy to do that for the rest of his life.

The spring trees had bloomed and faded and the summer blossoms come out before it could truly be said that things were settled in the kingdom. 

Messengers spread the word far and wide that the crown prince had returned to claim what had been stolen from him by his uncle, and for the most part, the news was met with glad tidings. Some members of the King's Guard and the former king's court abruptly decided that they were better suited for a life in the country, and Jensen let them go without reprisal in exchange for information. He promptly promoted Sergeant Madath to Captain and put him in charge of his personal security, which Madath was only too pleased to provide.

After sending out messengers and beginning preparations for his own coronation ceremony, the next thing Jensen did was to journey to the quiet seaside town where the queen had cloistered herself away. He insisted on breaking the news to her in person, and he also insisted that Jared come along. Jared hesitated, unsure about bearing witness to such a private event, but then he remembered the promise to himself to be there for Jensen. Besides, they had never gotten to journey across the kingdom like they had discussed when they were children, and this was the perfect opportunity.

It was understandably a shock to Jensen's mother to find him alive and well, even more so to hear of what Edward had done. Like Jensen, she confessed that she had always suspected Edward's hand in the deaths of both her husband and her son, but for fear of her own life, she had said nothing. Jensen told her that he understood, and he was fiercely glad that she had done so if it had kept her safe. He bade her to come back to the castle to live, and she promised that she would as soon as she was ready.

She whispered something in Jensen's ear before they left that had him blushing as red as a rose, but he refused to tell Jared what it was.

King Jensen's coronation was an oddly solemn celebration, for it would have happened seven years ago if not for Edward's betrayal. Still, a celebration it was, and Jared thought as he looked out over the crowds in the main square that he had not seen his countrymen so happy in those same seven years.

The silver mines were turned over to a group of dwarves and humans who pledged to work together, headed by Doc and a distant cousin of Jensen's. The spring rains came on time, and the crops were planted and showed early signs of a promising harvest. Jensen scoffed when Jared claimed it was because things had been set right on the throne, but Jared secretly thought that he was pleased at the idea. 

Within the castle, Jared kept a separate chamber from Jensen, though he rarely slept alone. His days were taken up advising Jensen on various matters and catching him up on the events of the past seven years. It was a lot of time to make up for, but Jensen had always been clever and eager to learn.

His nights were…well, seven years had to be made up for in other ways as well. And Jared was an equally eager learner.

It was a month after their arrival in the city when there was a knock on Jared's door. "Enter!" he called, turning from his writing desk and expecting to see one of the King's Guard. 

Instead, it was a man he'd never thought he would see again.

After a heartbeat or two passed, Jared sprang up and rushed towards his father, laughing with excitement. "They found you!" he exclaimed, embracing him wholeheartedly.

"News travels slowly, but it does travel." His father drew back and looked him over. "Especially when a special unit of the Guard has been dispatched."

Jared frowned in confusion. Then Jensen appeared behind his father in the doorway, eyes gleaming. "I knew how much you wanted to find him, and I knew that Edward's men had not managed it, so we had to look harder." He shrugged as if it was insignificant to send an full unit looking for one man when there was an entire kingdom to reassemble after years of neglect.

"Jensen." Stunned and grateful, Jared moved to embrace him, giving him a passionate kiss to express his gratitude. When Jensen went stiff in his arms, it took only a moment for Jared to realize why. 

He whirled around to look at his father, who was smiling warmly at the two of them. "I always wondered," was all he said, but his smile was all the approval that Jared needed.

"You…do not object?" Apparently Jensen wasn't as easily pacified, given his wary expression.

"How could I object?" Jared's father asked. "I have known you most of your life, and there is no one I would rather have at my son's side."

Jensen blinked a few times and then cleared his throat. "Thank you," he said, his voice husky. He pulled Jared closer with one arm, and Jared dropped a kiss on his cheek before beaming at his father. 

Later that evening, Jared found Jensen on the balcony of his bedroom, looking out over the forest that came up to one of the castle walls. He'd grown up in that forest, had met Jensen and eventually fallen in love with him there, and the sight made him smile. Coming up behind Jensen, he wrapped his arms around him and rested his chin on his shoulder. "Will you be coming to bed soon, Your Highness?" he asked, giving a playful nip to Jensen's earlobe.

It was a touch that usually had Jensen squirming, but instead he was tense in Jared's arms. "In a moment," he said, turning around.

The serious expression on his face had Jared's arms falling away. "What is it?"

Jensen swallowed. "I have been looking in the archives lately, or really having a clerk look in the archives. Jared, you—you must hear the discussions that go on in the corridors. About how I should be seeking a queen, now that I am established on the throne and the kingdom is thriving."

Jared's stomach sank. He had indeed heard those whispers, had ignored them as best he could because he didn't want to think about how they were right. "Yes, I have," he said, withdrawing a step.

But Jensen grasped both of his hands in his and held him in place. "There is precedent," he said in a low voice, "where not every king has taken a queen. Sometimes, we have found that there has been a prince consort instead. And so I—would you be willing…?"

He suddenly dropped to one knee, and Jared stared at him in disbelief. "What are you—" he started to ask.

Then Jared understood, and his heart started trying to beat out of his chest. He sank to his knees in front of Jensen, weakly protesting, "But you need an heir."

"Something can be arranged," Jensen said quickly, squeezing Jared's hands in his. The lamplight from the room behind them was full on his face, and his eyes shone the same green as Jared's beloved forest, their depths showing hope and nerves and love all at once. "Jared, I love you. I would not know how to live without you. Would you marry me?"

Jared looked at him, unable to believe that something he'd never even dared to hope for could come to pass. "I—of course, Jensen! I would not—I could no more live without you than—"

The rest of his words were cut off by Jensen's mouth on his, eager and seeking and full of so many promises that it sent Jared's heart soaring. He kissed back just as fiercely, arms wrapping around Jensen and pulling him as close as if they were one being, one soul.

Seven long, lonely years had melted away like snow in the sunlight, and the broken pieces of Jared's heart were finally mended with the promise of a lifetime of springs to come.


End file.
